


Nostra Maxima Culpa

by geneeste



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Off-World, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geneeste/pseuds/geneeste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly the man turned to look at her - fully at her - for the first time, and she instantly understood two things: 1) he was complete, absolute, unadulterated evil, and 2) she wouldn't live outside this exact moment. WARNING: Abandoned WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Make an End

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Meridian, Abyss, Unnatural Selection.  
> Season: Begins at Season Six, branches off from there.  
> Category: Future Story, AU, Angst, Sam/Jack Romance, Hurt/Comfort  
> Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story was created for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).  
> Author’s Notes: This fic was started long, long, loooooong ago. I seriously doubt it will ever be finished. You've been warned!
> 
> '))((' denotes a flashback, '(())' shows when theflashback is over.
> 
> 'Nostra Maxima Culpa' means 'Ours is the greatest guilt.'

\-----

 _"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."_

\-----

It was stupid.

She should have known better. She _had_ known better. But this time, somehow, knowledge had failed her. Knowledge had driven her to do something very, very dumb.

She should have let go of her old life long ago; it was over. But there was still a part of her - the same part that insisted on traveling from planet to planet, searching and never finding - that was searching for a man who didn't want to be found.

\-----

))((

"Jonas!" Sam had to shout to be heard over the klaxons. "What's going on?"

People were running by her, some in civilian clothing like as she was, some in uniform, some in camouflage. None of them had been willing – or able – to stop for a moment and talk to her. It was strange and disconcerting, knowing that something serious was happening and she wasn't in the know. It irritated her like nothing else.

Jonas was running like the rest of them, his face uncharacteristically dark. "Our off-world teams are coming through the stargate."

He didn't stop, just slowed down a bit so he could talk to her. He looked like he had been in the middle of changing from civvies to fatigues, a humorous combination of blue fatigue bottoms, tennis shoes, and a star wars t-shirt. She would have teased him about it except for the apparent seriousness of the situation.

"How many?" She asked, while narrowly dodging Siler, who was rounding the corner at a dead run. He didn't even blink.

Jonas's voice was grave. "All of them."

She stopped and grabbed his arm, forcing him to halt and look her in the face. " _All of them._ " It was less a question and more of a demanding statement. Her I'm-getting-not-this combat mode was kicking in.

He nodded jerkily. "All of them," he started moving again, only this time at a fast walk. "They've all been attacked. From what we've gathered so far – and trust me, it's not much – the attacks were organized and happened simultaneously."

She shook her head, confusion, disbelief, and anger warring for domination. "What are the casualties?" SG-1 had been the only team on downtime per the rotation; fourteen other teams were on active duty; eleven had been off-world when she left at beginning of the week.

Jonas drew a breath. "Of the twelve teams that were off-world at the time of the attacks, six teams have made it back. Of those, four are unhurt. Five are superficially wounded; eight are seriously injured. Seven are dead."

Seven. She closed her eyes briefly.

"That was the last report. It could have changed since then." He let a beat of silence pass. "General Hammond has ordered the base on high alert. Everyone is trying to get supplies and weapons ready. That's where I'm headed right now."

She nodded. "What about the other six teams?"

"They're pinned down. They can't get through the stargate, and we can't get through to them. They have been effectively cut off."

She blinked. "That's it? There's nothing we can do?"

Jonas shook his head. "We sent MALPs through to each of the planets. Every one has been destroyed or disabled, but not before transmitting back video of the fighting."

He swallowed convulsively, showing just how unused he was to combat. "Anyone who travels through the stargate right now won't be alive long enough to locate the other teams. If they're going to get back, they're going to have to do it themselves. There's nothing we can do."

It was obvious how loathe he was to say it.

"Do we know which goa'uld it is?"

He turned to her, real fear showing on his face for the first time.

"It's not a goa'uld."

The next words out of her mouth were spit rapid-fire. "Where's the Colonel?"

(())

It was stupid.

Or so she'b been telling herself. Funny, but she wasn't telling herself anything now.

The wind and sand blasted her cloak from her head, and she left it there, not caring that she was subjecting her already raw face to the searing blow. She had come to this planet in order to hide, and ironically enough, to seek.

It had been three years since the SGC had been scattered across the galaxy, and in those years she had spent more time traveling alone than with someone else. Her companions had been an assortment of people from her previous life; first Sergeant Siler, before he was killed stupidly by the indigenous people of a primitive planet. All he had done was kill a boar for them to eat, but the people had taken it as murder, and Siler had been dealt with accordingly.

It had been a long time before she had been able to rid herself of those nightmares.

Months later, she had been joined by Teal'c and Jonas; but after a too short time they had all been forced to go their separate ways when an informant had discovered their identities and reported back to his superiors.

She hadn't seen them since.

And then there had been Janet.

They had spent several weeks together, just happy that they weren't alone anymore, barely getting by but living. It was made happier by the fact that they frequently received messages from Cassie and General Hammond, detailing their status and location. It had broken Janet's heart that she couldn't be with her daughter, but the two of them together were easier to spot, and the unlikely pairing of the General and Cassie would have kept Cassie safe, at least until Janet could have found a planet she'd felt was isolated enough.

As she and Janet had made their journey searching one such planet, the communications from George and Cassie tapered off, and then stopped completely.

Janet's journey ended the moment she realized that Cassie's long silence wasn't an inability to return her messages, but death. Sam had been left to cremate the body and spread the ashes into the wind.

Now Sam found herself alone again, this time on a planet called Napata. It was largely unpopulated from the accounts of the inhabitants; it was traveled by hunting-gathering nomads, wandering traders, and bands of entertainers who traveled from one makeshift village to another, all of which spent most of their existence fighting over land and game. There was no currency to speak of, just trade of food and other practical goods that would keep one alive.

This made it particularly difficult for her to make it on the planet, but after spending four months here she had learned to adapt, even managed to convince a group of nomads called the Hyrews to allow her to travel with them in return for working for the tribe's leader, Njed.

As a woman, she was better respected here than on other planets, but she was still restricted in what she could do. Her daily rations were limited to the amount of menial labor she did for Njed, and more of her time was spent warding off his advances than actually getting anything done. The more she refused him, the less he gave her to eat. She would eventually have to either move on to another tribe or sleep with him.

The latter really wasn't an option she cared to entertain.

But getting to know the population really wasn't why she had come to Napata. The man standing before her was.

Jack O'Neill.

))((

When she finally found him, she wished she hadn't.

His face was ashen, with blood running down from a gash above his temple and sweat dripping over his forehead and into his eyes. Other than that, he looked pretty much okay.

If she could disregard the fact that he was at the wrong end of a very dangerous but unnamable weapon.

The man holding the weapon was human-looking, with dark eyes and hair contrasting his pale skin. His face was something between a sneer and a smirk, and he looked very much like someone who was playing a game where he'd won all the money, held all the aces, and knew everyone else's hand in every round.

He looked like someone who knew he was going to win.

(())

He didn't look like she thought he would.

He was obviously healthier than she was; she'd had too few meals and too many workdays at the start of her time on Napata, and she'd had little time to rest or recuperate.

He was tanned and well-muscled, showing that he'd probably spent most of his time doing manual labor as she had, though she had a sneaking suspicion that he had a much better position in the tribal hierarchy than she did. As head hunter or builder of his group, he would have been given priority to food and shelter next only to that of the leader and his family, and therefore would have been greatly cared for. His clothing also hinted at this, as he wore animal fur and leathers, while she wore layers of thin cloth woven from sheep-like wool.

It would have taken great resourcefulness to get a position like that, but that was something she would expect of him.

But despite all of her musings, she couldn't think of one thing to say to him. No questions, no angry reprimands, not even a hello.

Apparently, neither could he. He stood there, taking her in, staring at her as if he was sure she was just a trick of the sandy wind.

So instead of talking, she flew from the spot to which she had been rooted and crushed herself against him. A split second later his arms were around her, and they clutched at each other.

It was almost as painful as the last time she'd seen him.

(())

A moment after walking into the horrifying confrontation, a living nightmare exploded around her.

Man with weapon after man with weapon came pouring out of the stargate, without the slightest threat of the iris. The weapons they carried varied; between something that vaguely resembled Teal'c's staff weapon in design, but far advanced it in firepower, to an equally slick-looking type of handgun. Sam hadn't seen it in action just yet, but one shot from the staff-lookalike had grotesquely burnt a hole straight through a man, and chunked out a section of wall behind him.

In a terrifying instant, there was nothing to be heard in the gate room but the silence of the dead. Instead of going after her, the men hovered, guns trained on her despite knowing that she was unarmed and unwilling to attack them while her CO was in danger. The others swept through the gate room and into the corridor and disappeared from sight. She prayed silently that Teal'c and Jonas were prepared.

She bided time. She put up her hands and tried to make herself look cooperative. Her senses were trained on a young man - a boy, really - who was directly to her right. He was nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot, paying less attention to her and more to what his comrades were doing. If she could get his weapon...

The dark man grabbed her attention again as he started to speak. "Your defenses are so weak, Colonel O'Neill. It's a wonder the Goa'uld haven't tried something like this before us."

She frowned. He knew who the Colonel was, not only in name but by sight as well. Who was he?

"Sorry to ruin your effect, but they have. And failed every time. You should probably save yourself some trouble and leave."

The man smiled. "We are men of war, Colonel O'Neill. What would be the point in surrendering? And besides, I think it's obvious that we've got a slight advantage here, don't you?"

The Colonel made a point of tipping his head in consideration. He appeared completely at ease, not at all worried that he could be dead at any moment. "That depends. Who is 'we'?"

"That's really not important right now, is it? What's important is that I've got the gun and you don't." The man moved down the ramp, his weapon never faltering from the Colonel's head.

Sam frowned. The man's speech patterns were almost...familiar. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something there.

"I understand that yours is a very impressive planet, if you can get past the overpopulation and pollution that crowds it. That's no worry, however; it all will change."

She saw the Colonel's eyes narrow, but only because she had been studying his face; absolutely no emotion ticked across it. Except for, of course, the blatant defiance that had been there since the start of this frightening and bizarre confrontation.

"I seriously doubt that."

The man smiled. "I know you do."

Suddenly the man turned to look at her - fully at her - for the first time, and she instantly understood two things: 1) he was complete, absolute, unadulterated evil, and 2) she wouldn't live outside this exact moment.

Time seemed to slow down, and in the milliseconds it took for him to shift his gun toward her and pull the trigger, his eyes caused a realization that shot through her with more force than the blow from his gun.

He was Fifth.

(())


	2. Take Your Life in Your Own Hands

\------

 _"Take your life in your own hands, and what happens? A terrible thing: no one to blame."_

\------

He pushed her back abruptly. "What the hell are you doing here?" He asked roughly, his breathing ragged.

The rise and fall of her chest matched his own. "Looking for you."

He shook his head. He was silent for a moment, blinking rapidly. She guessed he was having as much trouble controlling his emotions as she was, and it made her feel remotely better about their separation. He had made the decision for both of them, so long ago.

He tightened his hands on her shoulders, looking her over. "You look like hell."

She laughed, a throaty and somewhat bitter laugh, but a genuine one all the same. "I know. What did you expect, fur and leather?" The jibe about their obvious distance in quality of life made her ashamed of herself, but she couldn't help it. It was more a matter of pride than anything else; he had made it. She had not.

"I never expected anything at all. Do you know how dangerous it is for us to be seen together?" He let go of her, and turned away. She looked skyward, as the air between them turned cold and awkward.

"No more dangerous than trying to live alone and failing," she replied, as her hope for a happy reunion crumbled before her eyes. "Maybe you've got everything falling right into place, but I don't. What have I got to lose?"

He glared at her. "Your life, maybe? I told you what would happen if SGC personnel are seen together."

She frowned, haunted by memories. "I know what happens." She glanced at the ground, and then back up at him, less sure of herself. "I have to tell you something."

He scowled at her. "What?"

She stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm. She tried to make her voice sound soft and gentle, hoping it would soften the blow, though she knew it wouldn't. "General Hammond and Cassie are dead. Janet too, about a year ago."

He sucked in a breath and took a step backwards. Her hand fell to her side. "How?"

She swallowed. _You don't need to know, Jack,_ she thought, _don't make it worse._ But she knew that he did need to know - he needed to know what else belonged on the list of tragedies to punish himself for.

"I don't know how George and Cassie died. I only know that they just stopped talking to us. There was really no proof that they were...I think Janet just knew."

She took a deep breath, and continued. "Janet...took something one night after I went to sleep. The next morning..." her voice faded off. "There was nothing I could do."

For a time they were both silent, and the wind carried the sound of children playing in a distance. Then he spoke, his voice as cold and empty as she had ever heard it. " _I told you._ I warned you what would happen. Why couldn't you listen to me? She was just a kid, Carter!"

She drew herself up, taken aback and getting angry. "I know that. God, don't you think I know that? But Cassie never would have lasted as long as she did on her own. What do you think we should have done? Pushed her through the stargate with nothing but a 'good luck'?"

He clenched and unclenched his fists, but said nothing.

She rubbed her forehead with her hand. "Look, nothing can make this right. They shouldn't be dead. But they chose their paths, Jack, just like we chose ours. And they chose death rather than risk what's happened to us happening to them. We're alive, and look at us. I'm the slave of a master who won't feed me unless I have sex with him and you work for people who would sell you if it meant more land to trash. And we're both completely alone. Who do you think got the better deal?"

She yanked her hood back over her head, and broiled silently. But if she was honest with herself, it wasn't really anger she was feeling, it was anguish. In the last several months she had felt her will and humanity slipping away and into darkness, and she had hoped that seeing him again would bring it back. But the moment of blessed reunion had passed. Whatever he had felt for her in those seconds they had embraced was obviously just a momentary vestige of a life they once lived; what was left was disheartening. Now that all they had was three years of trial and horror to hold on to, what did they have to say to each other?

How had she ever expected for things to be the same between them?

He just looked at her, his emotions cleanly hidden behind a mask of emptiness. "I'm just trying to protect you. All of you."

She threw up her hands, so frustrated and angry and miserable she could hardly find the words. "From what? What's left to protect?"

She stood there, and suddenly didn't have any energy left at all. "Are you really trying to protect me, Jack, or is that you can't stand the sight of me?"

He just looked over the sandy hillside to the splotchy village below, unwilling or unable to rise to the bait.

She stared at him a moment, and realized that maybe she didn't know him at all.

"This was a mistake." She paused, trying to make her voice sound as steady and unfeeling as his had. "I'll leave you to your work. Enjoy your life, such as it is."

At that, she left him. If she had looked back, maybe she would have caught him watching her leave, looking anything but unemotional.

As it was, she didn't look back.


End file.
